The Forsaken Son, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
THE FORSAKEN SON
ARLA BAKER SERIES BOOK 8
M.L. ROSE
THE FORSAKEN SON
Copyright © 2021 by M.L. Rose
All rights reserved.
M.L. Rose is the sole author and content owner of this book under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
HAVE YOU READ THE REST OF THE ARLA BAKER SERIES?
The Lost Sister - Book 1
The Keeper of Secrets - Book 2
The Forgotten Mother - Book 3
The Nail Collector - Book 4
The Last Girl - Book 5
Her Silent Obsession - Book 6
The Guilty Secret - Book 7
The Forsaken Son - Book 8
Also by ML Rose:
Don’t Say It - A standalone thriller with a breathless twist
Lie For Me - A spellbinding mystery with a pulse pounding finish
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CHAPTER 1
Susan was feeling drowsy. She only had two drinks, and that too her favourite white wine. Sancerre, 2014 vintage. Her head fell back on the car seat, and she stared out the window at the sky with dreamy eyes.
The promise of Easter was in the air. Signs of green life were appearing on the trees, and birdsong had returned in the early mornings. The snowy shackles of a silent winter were relaxing, melting into the wet earth. It was past sunset, and the mauve sky was deepening into shades of violet and blue. Looming darkened the approaching night, suffocating the last vestiges of light.
Susan didn't know where she was, but she trusted her companion. All the colours seemed to seep into one, the brown branches now bearing precious leaves, the yellow streetlights hesitantly flickering into life, and the maroon shadows of evening.
Susan blinked, and the scenery turned upside down, sky below, the ground above. She squeezed her eyes with the fingers and sat up straight. There, that was better. She turned to her companion.
"Where are we?" Her voice was thick, and it sounded unnatural even to her own ears.
Her companion didn't answer. The car took a left. The scenery looked familiar to Susan, but she wasn't sure of the location. Dense clumps of trees appeared on both sides, and they hung over each other on the road, creating an archway of foliage. It was visible because of the streetlights, and beyond the pale penumbra of lights, the inky night sky was clotted, faceless like a mask.
Susan's mouth was dry. "Can I have a drink?", She asked.
"There's none in the car," her companion said.
Susan said something, but she couldn't make out the sound of her own voice. Her head rolled back on the seat, and she stared out the windows again. Flashes of light passed overhead, interspersed by black shadows. Her eyes fluttered close, and all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing.
Her body gave a jolt, and she realised the car had stopped. She heard the door slam and her eyes opened. Then, a gust of fresh air as her door opened. She strained her eyes. There was a streetlight close to the car, and it shone down on the figure that had opened her door.
"Get out," her companion said in a gruff voice.
Susan was confused.
"Why? Where are we?"
Her companion stared at her for a few seconds. Then a hand reached out and grabbed her below the shoulders. She leaned against the car as the door slammed shut. Susan frowned.
"What's going on?" She asked.
She didn't get a response. The strong pair of arms supported her shoulders, and she leaned into her companion. There, that felt better. She could rest her head on the strong shoulder.
She inhaled the freshness of the open air, a touch of cold, mingling with the faintly acidic, lemony taste of the wine at the back of a throat. Strange, Susan thought to herself. She couldn't ever remember getting this drunk after two glasses. Admittedly, they were big glasses. And yes, she was intent on getting drunk. But this much?
Maybe she shouldn't have drunk so much wine after abstinence of three months. She was determined to lose weight, and alcohol had gone out of the window with her new diet. Maybe that's why she was feeling it so much. Well, the new diet had worked. She had lost 3 kg and dropped a dress size.
The shoes were crunching gravel, and soon she heard a different sound. It was the lapping of water. The smell of fresh, wet earth was strong now, infusing with the scent of flowers she couldn't identify. The air seemed cooler, and it made her eyes blink open. A row of yellow orbs glistened in the distance like a shimmering garland suspended mid-air. It seemed so far away. It took her some time to realise she was staring at streetlamps across the waters she was now facing.
Susan was confused. Once again, she turned to her companion and asked where they were. And again, she got no response. Her legs were heavy, and her head felt heavier. She could barely walk. She slid down the grassy verge as her companion got closer to the water.
Her feet squelched on wet ground, and she yelped when water splashed against her ankles. She was wearing jeans, and it turned soggy instantly, sticking to her legs. The water was freezing.
She straightened herself with an effort and resisted by pulling back. "Hey. I'm not going in there."
She stood her ground and breathed heavily. The evening breeze murmured softly over the black waters, and whispered in her ears. Her vision shook and moved, and she tried to make her legs move but found they were stuck in the mud.
Her companion had let her go and was watching her intently. Susan wanted to walk back to the car, but she had no strength. She forced herself to move, and with a gasp, she fell. Her bum landed with a splash on the water, and she was soaked immediately. She cried out, her hands digging into muddy waters.
She grabbed the hand that her companion offered, clutching it blindly. Then she felt both of her companion's hands on her arms, dragging her deeper into the water.
"No," Susan screamed, but her voice was weak. She felt water splashed against her chin, then rise up to her nose. Her companion was strong, relentless, pulling her deeper with consummate ease.
Susan coughed and spluttered as water went inside her mouth. The brackish, bitter taste filled her mouth. She was choking. She tried to speak, but her words were now submerged, as was most of her body. As Susan drowned, her last thought was that her companion would save her.
Then Susan couldn't think anymore, and the world turned black like the water.
CHAPTER 2
Douglas Rand, known as Dougie to his friends, licked the white Rizla paper as he pinched, then rolled the corners expertly. He put the joint to his lips and lit the other end. He took a deep drag, held his breath for a few seconds then let it go. He felt the hit a few seconds later, a warm surge that rushed to his head, making him dizzy.
He loved the light-headedness that the first joint of the day provided. Not that he smoked that much. Dougie was busy with his electricals business, and it was flourishing. He only had time for a joint when he came out angling with his mate Sham.
The grass verge at the edges of the river was still damp, and they had bought their rubber mats and inflatable chairs. Sham, short for Ittesham, was busy fixing the baits to their fishing rods' hook ends. Dougie took a couple of drags
Dougie stretched his arms over his head, then massaged his neck. Yes, mother nature was opening her arms again, and Dougie was most certainly up for a hug. It had been a long, hard winter. He was working like a dog, and today was his first day off. The sun was warm on his back, and although a light chill permeated the air, especially near the pond, it was tolerable.
Dougie had told his wife he was out on a job, and it wasn't a complete lie. He did work in the morning, but when Sham rang and asked him to come out angling, he couldn't resist. Dougie loved fishing. There was nothing quite like watching the waters, trying to guess what his scaly prey was doing underneath. Dougie was fascinated by fish. His proudest moment was catching a giant twelve-pound carp at the Coln River in North London. For two years, that had stood as a record. The fish was so big it had actually dragged him into the water. It had taken two of them to pull the fish into the net.
Dougie grinned as Sham handed him a fishing rod. The Clapham ponds were not known for big fish. But they did have carp, and a three or four-pound fish was not unheard of. It also had trout and the red-striped fish called Sparks, which Dougie loved catching. He let them all go, of course, after photos had been taken.
He looked to the jetty, where their rowing boat was tied. They had been fishing for one hour now and not had much luck. During the winter, the fish stayed in the middle of the pond, where it was warmer. Perhaps that's why they weren't biting. Sooner or later, Dougie knew they would have to go out on the boat. He didn't feel like rowing today, and the cannabis had gone to his head. He wanted to relax and just watch the water for tell-tale bubbles. It was hypnotic at times, and he loved it. He really didn't feel like rowing and was hoping that Sham would do it.
Rod in hand, Dougie rose to his feet. "Would you mind rowing?" He looked at his friend hopefully.
Sham stood and stretched. He had less of the joint, so Dougie assumed he would have more energy. He was right. Sham agreed to row, and the two of them clambered onto the boat. They had cleaned the boat earlier. It was an old wooden thing, which stayed in the shed in Sham's garden shed most of the year. Sham was a carpenter, and he looked after the boat well.
Dougie watched the water as the rowing blades sunk into it. Green trees rose in the dark, knotted clumps all around the bank. This was a remote part of Clapham Common, and the ponds took up a big area. Three of the ponds were also interconnected, and it was possible to row from one to the other. The water got deeper as they rode out towards the middle. Sham stopped rowing, and they floated.
Dougie flipped a line into the water. It landed with a soft plop and disappeared beneath. He accepted the offered spliff from Sham with a murmur of thanks. Sham had one rolled spliff in each ear. He was well prepared. They also had a flask of water and biscuits in case they got the munchies.
Dougie's eyes were caught by a flicker of movement to his right. There was a pull on the line, and it stretched tautly. Dougie tensed. This was a big catch; he could tell by the tension on the line. He stretched backward, his spine jerking straight.
"Whoa bro, what the hell is this?" he exclaimed to Sham, who was also looking at the water.
"Give it some slack," Sham urged. "If it's a bigg’un, then you need to tire it out.”
“But it’s not playing, though. Just sitting there,” Dougie’s face was tight with exertion. The pressure on his arms was growing, and he knew this was a big carp, maybe one of those mythical ten-kilo beasts only seen in the big rivers.
“Reel it in, bro,” Sham said. “Might be too big.” He dipped his oar in the murky water, moving the boat to the left, so they faced the big catch.
Dougie pulled hard, his feet pushing against the woodwork, the butt of the fishing road firm between his legs. The line was bent to almost breaking point. Then suddenly, he felt the tension ease. He wheeled the reeler gleefully, bringing the mammoth catch up. He grinned. He could sell photos of this big kahuna in the angler magazines.
“Here we go,” he shouted.
Both men stared at the near opaque water, waiting for the fish to splash up. Dougie narrowed his eyes as he saw something unusual floating on the water. It was a strand of seaweed, he thought, and the strands grew in number.
Surprised, he frowned. The tendrils of the seaweed floated into view. It was strange because weeds were not common in the deep waters out here. Weeds grew closer to the bank, but Dougie had never seen any so far out into the pond.
His mouth opened in surprise as he realised what he was looking at. Then a cold fear sank like a fist into the pits of the stomach. Nausea churned in his guts as bile rose in his throat.
It wasn't seaweed; it was human hair. The hair was splayed out like a halo around a bloated, floating figure. The face was puffy beyond recognition, and other parts of the body had also started to swell. Dougie heard a choking, guttural sound, and he looked up to see Sham’s ashen face, staring at the corpse.
Before their terrified eyes, the corpse floated closer to the boat. Dougie could taste the bile at the back of his throat, and his heart was hammering like a piston. Now, he could also smell the putrid stench from the decomposing corpse.
"Move,” he croaked, but Sham needed no encouragement. The paddles splashed noisily in the still water, taking the boat away from the floating corpse.
CHAPTER 3
Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker was staring fondly at her phone. On the screen, she could see her daughter, Nicole, playing with her mother-in-law Rita. Rita had taught Nicole a nursery rhyme, and as she sang the tune, Nicole pretended to lie down and fall asleep. Then she jumped up and started hopping as the song came to an end. Arla laughed and clapped her hand as Nicole took a bow, and the proud grandmother beamed.
"Well done, Darling." She blew kisses at the screen while Nicole studied her seriously, probably wondering why mummy was staring at her from a screen.
A knock on the door disturbed the happy family time. But Arla was at work, and she had to respond. She bid them a hurried goodbye and hung up. She sat back in the office armchair and asked whoever was knocking to come in.
The tall, wide-shouldered figure of Inspector Harry Mehta entered. He shut the door with a soft click and ambled over. Harry had recovered his dapper, suave ways now that Nicole was older, and he was getting more sleep.
His light coffee-coloured cheeks were smooth-shaven again, and he was back to dressing like the Eliot Ness of Clapham police station, as Arla liked to call him. Even the silk, Paisley pattern handkerchief on the right pocket of his blue suit was perfectly done. The tips of his black Oxford brogues gleamed. Harry perched himself on the edge of Arla's desk, and it dipped alarmingly. Harry stood, raising his eyebrows. Arla smirked at him.
"Getting fat, aren't you?"
"Does my butt look big in this suit?" Harry shot back, did a twirl, and stopped with his butt close to Arla's face. She reached out and slapped his arse, which pleased him immensely. Harry was always up for some hanky-panky in the office. The man was incorrigible.
He grinned like a mischievous schoolboy, his handsome face creasing up with laughter. His skin was smooth enough for flies to slip on, and she wanted to touch his cheeks, draw him closer. But she also knew the handsome devil was here for a reason.
He put his hands on his waist and gazed at her critically. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
Arla narrowed her eyes at him. "As your boss, I should be reporting you for sexual harassment."
Harry gaped at her. "You complain about me? Who slapped whose arse?" He came closer till he towered above her chair. Arla remained seated, looking up at him. He still made her quiver inside. She could smell his aftershave. Harry usually put on enough for five men, not one. He positively reeked for miles.
She could reach out and touch his legs but refrained. The thought of those muscular legs wrapped around hers sent a wave of heat pooling low in her belly, making her want to squeeze her thighs together. Their passionate lovemaking had returned, and Harry had made it clear he wanted another child. A boy, to be precise. She had to smile at that. Typical man, Harry was.
He bent at the waist, bringing his face close to hers. "All slap and no tickle, Detective Inspector Baker?" He whispered. He reached out a hand, trying to feel her breasts, and she feigned shock, slapping his hand away.
